Save Thy threshold, my shelter in the world is none.
Save this door, my fortress-place is none.
When the enemy draweth the sword, we cast the shield:
For save weeping and wailing, our sword is none:
From the tavern-street, why turn I away my face?
For better than this, in the world, my way and path is none.
If, into the harvest of my life, Time cast fire,
Say: “Consume; for, equal to a little blade of grass, in my opinion, it is none.”
I am the slave of the saucy eye of that straight stature,
From whose wine of pride, at any one, glance is none.
Be not in the pursuit of injury: do whatever thou desirest:
For in our Shariat, save this, a sin is none.
O King of the dominion of beauty! go rein drawn:
For at the head of a street, is it not a justice-seeker is none?
Thus it is, that, in every direction, I behold the snare of the Path:
Save the shelter of His tress, my shelter is none.
To the tress and the mole give not the treasure of the heart of Hafez;
For deeds like these, the power of every black one is none.